The morning glory flower has been used as an herbal uterine stimulant, and, when made into a tea, has been used to induce labor.
No one spoke of the Morning Glory when they examined my earth for the seed that grew, handed me a capsule and told me the pain would subside in three days.
When I sat, knees to chest, my soil a slow erosion, I would have wanted Morning Glory when I lay hollow and empty like a bright blood-orange moon.
I wish I could have tasted the sweet communion of Morning Glory first. How the name rolls off my tongue like blessed assurance. When I needed an anointing
no one offered to crush morning in their palm, boil the Glory in water and let it steep. No one spoke of how it gently settles in your belly.
How Morning speaks softly to your uterus and convinces her to empty, pour like gourd and spill the guilt she has been carrying.
Glory will breathe on your belly of impurities, whisper sanctification and cleansing on all that shame and dead skin. I wish I knew of Morning Glory how it can be a surgery and baptismal all at the same time.